His Idjits
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Because, Sam and Dean are his idjits, and he'll be there, no matter what life throws at them. Sam and Dean brotherly fluff-stuff and Bobby being that slightly drunken but lovably good influence on his favorite boys. Formerly known as 'Bobby's Little Idjits'
1. Grilled Cheese

When Dean Winchester is ten, he attempts to make his brother a grilled cheese sandwich.

Bobby's house is stocked with more than what a ten-year-old boy can lift from a gas station, and he intends to take full advantage of it, and give his brother more than just a candy bar for dinner that night. He pulls two slices from the loaf of bread on the counter, giving the open end of the plastic sleeve a quick twist to close it, and making his way to the refrigerator. He grabs the tub of butter and two slices of cheese from the fridge - because it's been a while since little Sammy's had any real food. Unfortunately, for all of the grilled cheese sandwiches Dean has enjoyed courtesy of his mother, it doesn't make him the master at anything but eating them.

His attempt at making the sandwich goes a bit awry.

The actual physical sandwich might be a little more butter than anything, and when he puts it in the pan, the butter melts into this awful brown liquid that smells as burnt as it looks. The cheese doesn't melt like it should and the bread is soggy with melted butter but uncooked. And, the smoke from the too-hot skillet makes his eyes water and draws Bobby's attention.

"Dean!" panicked, and a little worried, Bobby Singer makes a breathless entrance into the kitchen. He makes a quick assessment of the situation, turns the stove off to stop the smoke from growing thicker, and waves his hand through the air in an attempt to clear out the kitchen. His worried gaze finds Dean standing there, spatula in hand, lip quivering at the mess he's made of his baby brother's dinner. "Kid, what the hell?"

"I - I was trying to make Sammy a sandwich." he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

"A sandwich?"

He doesn't say it, not in front of Dean, but he wonders when it became the little boy's job to make sure Sam was fed. When had Sam become Dean's responsibility? He was only ten, not even old enough to keep himself alive, much less him _and _his little brother.

"Yeah," Dean nods, tears welling in his green eyes. "A grilled cheese sandwich but I ruined it. Just like everything else."

Everything else?

What everything else? What the hell is John Winchester pawning off on his oldest son? No ten-year-old should feel like they ruin everything, nor should they feel like they bear the sole burden of raising a six year old. Bobby kneels in front of the little boy and takes him gently by the arms. His voice is clear and stern but still holds a note of affection when he speaks. "You didn't ruin anything, Dean. You just don't know how to do it - you have to learn. Just like everything else. And, you can't use the stove without an adult around. I don't want you gettin' hurt, little idjit."

"I'm sorry, Bobby." Dean apologizes softly, tucking his chin into his chest. "I didn't mean to."

"Ah, it's okay, kid." Bobby's reaction is a far cry from the violent physical reaction Dean would have expected had it been his father. His adopted uncle just laughs and reaches for the skillet on the stove. He dumps the ruined sandwich in the trash and quickly gathers the makings of a new sandwich. He ruffles Dean's hair and motions him closer with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, little idjit. Let me show you how to make this. First of all, you had too much butter, now when you have that problem..."

The tears dry and the sandwich is made with Bobby's assistance and careful supervision. "Can we cut the crust off, like Mom used to?" Dean's eyes are so bright and hopeful and Bobby's reaching for a knife before he ever actually voices a response.

"Sure, kid."

When the sandwich is finally ready for Sam along with a cold glass of milk, the little boy eats it like it is the last thing he'll ever eat again. "Maybe you should make grilled cheese sandwiches more often," Bobby winks at Dean and the ten-year-old's face lights up. "He seems to like 'em."

"Thanks Dean!" Sammy smiles a toothless smile, milk mustache clinging to his upper lip.

Dean just smiles, his failed attempt at cooking forgotten, along with the tears that had come with it. Although, he is only ten, he wants his baby brother to know that he can provide for him, that he can take care of him, even when their father isn't around to do it. While it is admirable that Dean stepped up to the plate, Bobby isn't sure he's comfortable with the unspoken truth of the Winchesters.

John Winchester is not Sam's father, not in the way he should be.

Dean is.


	2. Pancakes and Innocence

"-you're gettin' pretty good at this, kid."

"Thanks, Bobby!"

Wide green eyes shine with pride at such a compliment from his uncle. The remnants of the previous night's grilled cheese sandwich debacle are nothing more than scraps of memory tucked deep into the recesses of Dean Winchester's mind. Bobby's invitation to help cook breakfast had pushed it away and, with a spatula in hand, the ten year old is pretty sure he could do anything; but then, that's probably the mentality of most children when they're allowed to do something that is usually an adults only activity.

With a two-handed grip on aforementioned spatula, he carefully flips the pancake that is currently frying in a pan of melted butter, and smiles at the golden brown perfection that greets him. In spite of its slightly mangled edges and a shape that veers more toward being an oval than a circle, it is a perfectly edible pancake, or would be rather, when it is out of the pan and swimming in butter and syrup. His eyes slip away for a moment to peek at the bacon cooking in the other skillet.

"Bacon's tricky, kid." but, with a finesse, the little boy hadn't yet acquired, Bobby finagles the bacon over so that it can fry, even and crisp, on both sides. "It pops, and when it does, it hurts like..."

No.

It isn't that he can't say it - he's perfectly capable of it, and he knows John has said far worse in front of his children - it is just that he won't say it. Not with the big green eyes of his favorite little idjit staring up at him like that, and definitely not when the kid's probably heard it more times than is appropriate from his father. Listen, John Winchester can swear, fly into rages, and do whatever the hell he wanted in front of his children, but Bobby Singer likes to think he ranks a little higher on the morality scale than the deadbeat father.

"Like a what, Bobby?" the ten-year-old stares at him, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

"Like a vampire bite."

He isn't speaking from experience, thank heavens, but he is calling on the memory of an incident that happened a few years before Dean's existence. The only thing standing between pure life and the unwelcome, rotten immortality of vampirism was a silver bullet in the shoulder of a particularly nasty vampire that had pinned him to a brick wall in some alley, sour with the smell of cocaine and sex.

"Oh." the little boy's head tilts and his nose scrunches. "You were bitten by a vampire?"

"Well, no." Balls. He really should have known Dean was going to ask question. "But, I hear it hurts. Would you want someone sucking your blood?"

"Sammy used to suck his thumb." Dean shrugs, using the spatula to lift the slightly burnt pancake out of the skillet.

"Hardly the same thing, kid."

"Oh."

"Don't ever cross pathes with a vampire, little idjit." Bobby warns, even though the inevitable screams in the back of his mind - that Dean and Sam would see far, far worse things than a blood-sucking monster. "If you do, you kill it."

"Where do monsters go when they die, Bobby?"

"A place called purgatory, Dean." exasperation tugs the breath from his lungs, and he pours more pancake batter in the pan, eager to direct Dean's attention away from talk of monsters and death before little Sammy walks in and hears something he shouldn't. "Hurry up, idjit. Sam'll be up soon."

As if on cue, six-year-old Sammy, shaggy haired and rubbing at his sleepy eyes with a fisted hand, pads into the kitchen; his plaid pants are twisted about his waist and his t-shirt is bunched around his ribs, but he doesn't seem to notice. His brown curls obscure his eyes and Bobby wishes the stubborn little boy would relent to having his hair trimmed but even at six, Sam Winchester knows what he wants, and refuses to accompany Bobby to the barber shop.

"Hey Sammy," the spatula is left on the counter, Dean's big brother mode taking precedence. "Pull your shirt down. Wouldn't want a vampire to get you."

"'at's a vampire?" Sam murmurs sleepily, rushing into the safe strength of his big brother, who fixes his shirt and the waistband of his pants.

"It's a thing that drinks blood." Dean cages the little boy in his arms, holding his warmth close. The comforting presence of Sam is in a way, Dean's security blanket, in much the same way, he is Sam's. "Wouldn't want that, would we, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes widen comically and he presses a little more into his brother's chest. "No way!"

"Well then," Dean speaks conspiratorially into Sam's ear, shuffling a hand through the younger boy's shaggy curls. "We better eat up so we can protect each other from the vampires."

"You want milk, Sam?"

Sam peeks over Dean's shoulder to where Bobby is retrieving the milk carton and a container of orange juice from the fridge. His little head tilts and he speaks with such finality, one might think he's much more mature than the sweet little six-year-old, he actually is. "Orange juice, please?"

"Good choice, Sammy." the embrace ends with Dean standing up to lead Sam to the table to eat breakfast. "Vampires hate oranges."

"They do?"

If anyone else were to hear Sam's voice and see his face when he looks up at Dean, they might say he's talking to his hero, with the person who hung the moon and put the stars in the sky. It's just his big brother, but little Sammy's world revolves around Dean, and talking to him is the same as talking to any superhero in his world, because Superman and Batman mean nothing when you have Dean.

"Yeah." Dean nods.

And, they're off, mouths moving at a hundred miles an hour around bites of bacon and syrup drowned pancake. Dean spouting off nonsense and Sam laughing while Bobby watches and laughs when Sam looks up at him expectantly. Of course, one day, Sam will have to learn the truth about vampires but for now...well, John Winchester can shove his good soldier crap where the sun didn't shine because if there is one thing the Winchesters need more of, it is blind innocence.

He just wishes Dean still had his.


	3. Bail Money and Older Brothers

If fate is trying to be funny, Bobby Singer is not laughing.

It's midnight, for crying out loud, and the last thing he wants to be doing is talking on the phone, but he doesn't have much choice. In a hilarious twist of their screwed up reality, it is neither of the two elder Winchesters that Bobby is scraping up bail money for, first. All he can say is Sam Winchester would do well to count his blessings, because he'll be lucky to have any left after this little stunt. It is not for what you might expect from a Winchester - theft is practically written in their DNA - no, the twerpy fourteen-year-old has gone and gotten himself arrested for vandalism. Apparently, the little idjit is skilled enough with a can of spray paint, beyond the usual demon warding symbols, to earn himself a misdemeanor charge, and a night in jail.

"I've got the money, Sam. I'll get your brother and we'll be there soon." Bobby sighs into the phone, "You gonna do this again?"

"No, sir."

"Good." Bobby laughs a little in relief; not that he's happy about how genuinely scared Sam sounds, but more about the fact that he'll never have to do this again. "Now, you be good. I'll be there in thirty."

"Okay." Sam pauses, before hesitantly spitting out his question. "Could we not tell Dad?"

"What, you think I'm stupid?" he doesn't explode, not physically, but mentally, he does question how much faith Sam has in him. He'll do a lot of things but telling John about the boys' indiscretions is not one of them. Especially something like this."I ain't tellin' your Daddy a damn thing. As long as you're okay, and you don't do this again then, I ain't sayin' a word and I can make the same promise for Dean. You're an idjit but you're only fourteen, Sam. You're allowed to be."

"Dad would be disappointed." Sam winces regretfully.

"I'm disappointed in him, so it all works out." Bobby chuckles softly. "I'm gonna go wake your brother, okay? You stay quiet and don't get seen."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't thank me, kid. I'd have done a hell of a lot worse, if I were you." Bobby assures him. "Now, you get off the phone and out of the way."

"Alright." Sam nods, breathing normally once again.

Bobby hangs up the phone and heads up the room where the oldest of the Winchester brothers lay sleeping. "Dean!" his fist pounds hard enough to dent the oak. "Dean, get up, idjit!"

"Bobby?" the door cracks and sleepy green eyes peer at him, confusion and slight anger being woken up darkening the green slightly. "What the hell?"

"Get dressed. I just got a call from Sam." Bobby tells him shortly, needing him to hurry up.

"Sammy? What happened to Sammy?"

Dean's protective concern over his little brother is sincere and if Bobby knows anything about the eighteen-year old, he knows that if a hair on Sam's head is out of place, Dean'll kill the son-of-a-bitch who dared touch his Sammy.

"He's in jail." Bobby's already halfway down the hall. "Get dressed. I'll tell you in the car."

The 1967 Impala is pristine as usual and Bobby's barely in the passenger's seat before Dean is grilling him for answers. "If you'll shut up, I'll tell you." he interrupts sharply. "Apparently, he snuck out after we went to bed, met up with some friends of his, and had a little fun on a bridge with some spray paint. You did a hell of a job teaching him those warding symbols. Scared the mess out of a couple of cops."

"What'd Sam say?"

"That he's scared and he's never going to do it again." in a similar fashion to Sam's earlier pause, Bobby takes a moment to find the right words. "He asked me not to tell John."

Dean tenses against the words, clearly sharing in Sammy's fear that the minor indiscretion would be shared with their father. "You're not - ?"

"Hell no." Do these boys not trust him at all? "Now, haul ass, idjit. Sam's waitin'."

xxx

"What's takin' so long, Bobby?" his booted foot taps anxiously. "I mean, we paid the bail money an hour ago! Where is he?"

"He's comin'."

A swift kick to the ankle is all it takes to stop Dean's nervous tapping, but apparently, he's hiding a thousand other nervous ticks because he takes to drumming his knee with a closed fist. For all of his tough, brooding strength, Dean's weakness will always be Sam, and later on, that could pose some danger but for now, it is what keeps them both alive. The heavy door off to their left opens and Sam slips through, head down, and his backpack hanging off of one shoulder.

"Sammy!" Dean is on his feet before Bobby even realizes that Sam is there. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." as an after-thought, he adds. "Promise."

"Are you stupid?" Dean growls when he's assured of Sam's safety. "You could have been hurt! Hell, who knows what could have happened to you! Sammy, you can't do this again."

"I know." Sam nods, looking up at Dean. "I won't."

"Good."

His mouth curls into a somewhat tender grin, and he tugs Sam into him, shuffling a hand through his little brother's hair as Sam's slender arms wrap around his abdomen. It doesn't matter what Sam does, how he acts, or how far off base he strays, it is never John nor Bobby to bring him back. It is Dean. It will always be his older brother that he turns to. And, maybe, in some ways, they prefer it that way. Sam prefers to build the foundation of whatever he does around the solid strength that Dean offers, around the security of his brother. And, Dean is happy to be that, if it means his brother is happy and safe and able to act like a kid should.

"Let's get you home, kiddo." Dean murmurs, squeezing his baby brother. "You need sleep."

"Okay." Sam nods against Dean's stomach, half-lidded eyes barely focusing on anything.

Despite his exhaustion, Sam has never been happier to see the Impala, and when he climbs in the backseat like the five-year-old Sam used to, Dean just laughs. God, he misses that Sam. The soft warmth of his brother curled into his side when nightmares plagued him, the sweet innocence in his brother's wide-eyed gaze. It's not that he doesn't remember the bad, he just misses what had been so good about Sam just being a little boy.

"Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam mumbles tiredly, nodding off against the cool window.

When they arrive back at Bobby's house, Dean carries Sam in and tucks him into bed. He's certain his baby brother will never make that mistake again; that said, he'd done a lot worse when he was fourteen, and nobody had been there to bail him out until Bobby could make the trip down to Kansas to do it. A misdemeanor vandalism charge is the least of Sam's worries, they both know that, but it takes a lot to survive with the last name Winchester, and this makes Dean wonder what's in store for his Sammy.

"Dean," Bobby's hand on his shoulder pulls him from his reverie and he realizes, he's still standing in the doorway of Sam's bedroom. "Go to bed. It's been a long night."

"Bobby - "

"He's a kid, Dean. He made a mistake." Bobby's voice is strong but reassuring. "It happens. The little idjit will be okay."

"I know, I just," his eyes avert back to the lump of brown curls and bony limbs underneath the blankets. "What's going to happen to him, Bobby? If he does this again, what if we're not there to get him out, next time?"

"Then, he'll learn to stand on his own." it hurts to think about, his little idjits growing up, but it is life. "He'll learn to get by without help."

"I don't want to lose him." Dean crosses his arms over his chest; his favorite defense mechanism. "That's my baby brother, Bobby."

"He's okay, Dean." Bobby sighs, reaching for Sam's doorknob to pull the door closed. "I know you don't want him too, but Sam's going to grow up."

"I know."

"So, get some sleep. You're on breakfast duty." Bobby yawns, already shoving through the door of his own bedroom. "And, I don't mean outside the door. If Sam needs you, he knows where to find you."

Dean retreats to his own bedroom, soft laughter echoing behind him. If Bobby is surprised to find Sam in Dean's bed the next morning, tears staining his cheeks, and curled safely into the familiar warmth, he never says anything. He wouldn't expect any less of them, really. For all of their all-grown-up facade, they are still just kids, and as sad as it is to think about, they've become the only family they can rely on. John's proven himself rather useless as a father and Bobby knows these boys love him, but they are what is familiar to each other, what the other will always gravitate towards.

Even if they are idjits.


	4. A Single Black Feather

Sam is eight when he gets lost.

As Dean's little brother, it is his job - or, so he thinks - to do, or try rather, everything his big brother does. Not to mention, the game of shadow he plays with the twelve-year-old on a near daily basis. Occasionally, and only when Sam is being a real pain in the you-know-what, Bobby offers Dean a reprieve with some new book for Sam to read until he can recite it verbatim. He is (proudly) the only eight year old, who can banish a demon three different ways. As much as both Bobby and Dean hate that he has, and _needs _that skill, it does have its merits. The number of telemarketing calls has dropped considerably since Sam's unique ability to speak Latin was put to good use.

But his sense of direction still needs a bit of fine tuning, in spite of his demon smiting expertise. Opening the gates of hell - no problem. Finding his way around the junkyard...eh, that's where the problems arise. And, of course, the problem starts at night. Dean is an insomniac when there's a new car to be worked on in the garage and he will stay up all night, even at the risk of being miserable the next day, to help Bobby work on it. At twelve, he is a far better mechanic than most owners of the auto-shops in the area. Sam is right there on his heels, sleepy-eyed, clutching a blanket and a book, settling in the garage where it's cold and damp just because it means being close to his brother.

It's barely dark out, and without thinking about Sam sitting in the corner, eagerly anticipating shadowing Dean, Bobby sends the boy out to retrieve a part from a car. It's a fairly simple operation and Dean will be able to do it in about five minutes. So, screwdriver in hand, and arm around his little Sammy, they set off to get the needed part. The junkyard has always been their playground and Dean navigates the cars with ease.

"You stay with me, Sammy. Don't want you getting lost." Dean murmurs when they reach the rusted out Cadillac. "Bobby just needs one part and we'll go in."

"Okay, Dean."

Sam's voice is distant, distracted, and his hazel eyes are focused intently, not on Dean but on the soft light shimmering between the trees. It's mesmerizing and Dean is into his work on the car, that is of little interest to an eight-year-old, so he slips away, toward the light. He doesn't realize when he's strayed too far to find his way back on his own. All he knows is that whatever he had seen had been something worth investigating and he had chased his curiosity.

"Alright, Sammy, let's go..." Dean's voice trails off into nothing when he realizes that his baby brother is not where he should have been. "Sammy? _Sammy!_ Where are you?"

Nothing.

Not even a cricket.

"Bobby!" the part drops to the ground and he's sprinting back to the garage; feet barely touching the ground. "Bobby, is Sam here?"

"No. He was with you." Bobby calls from under the hood. "Why?"

"He's gone."

"Balls!" Bobby drops the wrench and rushes toward Dean. "Come on, idjit. Let's find him. Sam!"

_"Sammy!" _

xxx

"Dean!" his book is clutched close his chest, watery hazel eyes searching for his big brother. "Dean, where are you?"

"Hello, Sam."

His grating rasp of a voice surprises even him. To be quite honest, he's not sure about this but Gabriel had insisted on it, saying that he needed the experience with humans, if he was to walk among them and offer his divine protection. Even small humans, like the one he's faced with. He's the little brother, that's all he's ever been, and to be faced with someone younger than him - in years and wavelengths is a new experience. He doesn't really know what he's doing; all he knows that the name Winchester strikes a chord in him and he's certain that his fate will heavily entwine with theirs, so he feels it is his duty to protect them.

"Dean?" Sam whirls around on his heel, but what he finds is not his brother.

Instead, he finds himself staring in stupid wonder at a spread of black feathers extending out, at least ten feet on either side of a shimmering figure. The blue shimmer is bright and powerful and warm and emcompasses Sam like the blanket he had left back at the garage. "Before you ask," his eyes shift and the color changes, a gradient of blue and gray. "I am Castiel. I saw you wander off from your brother. You really should stay with him."

"Wh - what are you?" his bottom lips quivers, but he's not sure if it's out of fear or if the realization that he had done something wrong had set in.

"I am angel of the Lord, little one." Castiel flutters his wings, encircling Sam with one. "It will be dark soon, you will get cold. Stay with me, Sam. I will keep you warm until your brother finds you."

"An angel?" Sam's curiosity grows a little more, now that he knows what the light had been.

"Yes, and I, too, am a little brother." Cas' smile is soft, warm, because he's always been a little more tender-hearted than his brothers and sisters. His voice is stern but still gentle when he lectures Sam on the dangers of running away. "We have a responsibility to our siblings. They protect us from harm, but they cannot do so if we disobey or stray from them. I happen to know that your older brother loves you and if anything were to happen to you, it would hurt him deeply."

"I know." Sam sighs, looking down in shame, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I did a bad thing but I saw a light and I wanted to.."

"It will be alright, little one." his wing tightens around the child protectively, because Sam brings about a certain protective instinct that makes him wonder if Gabriel had ever felt this way toward him. In the back of his mind, he can hear Gabriel's voice. _"Little brother, I love you more than anything and it is for that reason that I will always protect you. You will never be harmed with me around." _

"It will?"

"Oh yes." Castiel reassures the child. "Your brother will find you. In fact, he shall be here in a matter of moments."

But, Castiel isn't experienced with children and staying with Sam proves to be more exhausting than he would have thought. The child asks question after question, seeking to satisfy the part of him that longed to know everything. And, while he can appreciate Sam's love of books and learning - he, too, is still learning - it is mind boggling how many questions he is able to conjure. He makes a mental note to apologize to Gabriel for badgering him like this.

"Why are you here?" Sam inquires, eyes drooping heavily. "I mean - what...?"

"I, um, I was here to check on someone, I'm supposed to guard." Castiel answers vaguely, wings shifting in response to the discomfort brought about by an innocent inquiry, but he is certain that the part of his wing tucked around the small boy doesn't move. The night is growing cooler and Sam is sure to be sick if he doesn't do his best to help him stay warm and dry. "Sam, it might be best, if you stayed awake. I believe your brother is drawing closer to your location."

_"Sammy!" _

"You won't remember this when you're older, but it was nice knowing you." Castiel unfurls his wing and smiles at the young child. "Be good, Sam."

"Bye Castiel." Sam waves, still clutching his book.

Castiel disappears in a flash of light and Sam turns to the sound of his brother's voice. Bobby is running through the woods with a flashlight - salt and holy water, too, probably - with Dean hot on his heels, his own flashlight in hand. If they are shocked by the sight of a perfectly warm, dry, and unharmed Sam, they don't show it. While he's certain to receive a stern lecture from Bobby and Dean about this later, he still hears Castiel's deep, growling voice echoing.

_"...if anything were to happen...hurt him deeply." _

It's something he doesn't fully understand until he's in his twenties and instead of killing demons, he's drinking their blood. And, he sees how much it changes him and how much it hurts Dean. It is during a particularly rough night that he finds a single black feather on his bed and he knows. The memory is faded, lost in the battles he's fought over the years, but somehow, he still remembers those words and how much they've come to mean to him. When he's finally clean, finally sober, he makes sure to send a simple but profound prayer to the angel that's been so much a part of their lives.

"Thanks, Castiel."


End file.
